Why Raccoons Should All Fucking Die

Before telling one story, I must tell another.

A few years ago as I was driving in a car with my mother and grandmother, my grandma pointed to a church and said, “The Beacon Journal said that that’s the oldest church in Akron.”
My mother replied, “No Mom, that isn’t the oldest church.  The oldest church is farther down Market.”

An argument erupted.  An argument that lasted an entire year.  An entire year.  An entire fucking year…

My grandmother would not let it go.  She had to prove my mom wrong.  Every time the two of them got together my grandma, at some point, would mention that church.  My mom insisted that they drop it but my grandma would not hear of it!  It became a joke to the rest of the family.  Then it got aggravating.  One day, my mother surfed the web, found an article on the oldest church in Akron, printed it out, and gave it to my grandma.  My mother was right.  This process took an entire fucking year.

Now, onto the next story. 

People drop kittens off at my grandma’s house every summer.  She is known throughout the neighborhood as some crazy cat lady.  And every summer she goes through some sort of drama trying to find these kittens a home or trying to get the Humane Society to take them.

Last night, a raccoon ate one of the kittens.  My grandma found a woman who would take the remaining kittens.

So, I had to take my grandma miles away to some lady who has ninety cats in her house and who doesn’t give cats to homes with children.  So she has ninety of them.

During the car ride, my grandma explained to me the excruciating details of the kitten’s unfortunate demise. I’ll spare you the horrid shit I had to hear.

We got to the house.  My grandma took the cats inside.  She remained inside.  Five minutes went by.  Fifteen minutes went by.  Finally an entire fucking thirty minutes went by!  And then she came out.

We had a conversation.

“That house is so big.  You can’t even tell there are ninety cats in there.  I told her that if I had the money, I’d do the same thing as her.”
“…”
“I asked her if she was a religious person.  She said, ‘Oh, yeah.’  And so I told her that after the kitten died last night and I had cried, I prayed so hard.  I prayed that I could find a place for these other kittens.  And God heard me.  He saved those kittens.  God is good.”
“…”
“I probably looked like a maniac last night.  After I found that kitten I chase that raccoon all around the yard.  I chased him with a mop under the porch and up the tree.  I cussed the son-of-a-bitch out and cried at the same time.”
“…”

She kept looking out her window the whole time spotting election signs.  She’d grumble and complain every time she spotted a McCain sign and she’d shake her fist in the air and say “Alright!” every time she saw an Obama sign.

Another conversation.

“Can you believe that Palin?  Mmph.”
“…”
“And McCain is just an old fuddy duddy.”
“…”
“Did you see Obama dance?  He was on Ellen.  He’s a good dancer.”
“He’s black.”
“Ha-ha.  He has such a nice smile.  I really hope nothing bad happens to him.”
“…”

Let me interject by saying that just a few months ago my grandma hated this man with a fierce passion.

After a moment of silence my grandma said in a hushed voice filled with emotion, “That woman is such a good person.”
She was referring to the ninety-cats person.

Soon, to my dismay, another conversation cropped up.

“Grandpa is going to West Virginia for two weeks.  I told Theresa and she said that it was a good thing and a bad thing.  I said that she had nailed it on the head.”
“…”
“I like it when he leaves but I’m afraid of being alone.  She said that I need to get a gun.”
“…!”
“If someone breaks in, I can shoot him.  If I had a gun, I could have killed that raccoon.”
“…………….”

She wanted me to take the dead kitten to my house so that my mom could bury it.  I told her that my mom would come pick it up tomorrow.  I didn’t want a fucking dead cat in my fucking car.

On the way home my grandma pointed at something out her window.

“That’s the oldest church in Akron.”
“…”